


The Crazy Kids Ain't Going So Hot

by presidenthomewrecker



Series: Some Like It Hot [3]
Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2018-11-03 05:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presidenthomewrecker/pseuds/presidenthomewrecker
Summary: Kurt's happy. Things are still hard, but they've gotten better, and he can finally say with confidence that he's happy.So of course JD has to come back to school.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's 2 am all aboard the angst train™

“You know,” Ram says through a mouthful of peas, “peas are great.” He chews, then swallows. “In fact, if Kurt didn’t exist, they’d be my favorite thing in the world.”

Kurt snorts. “Gay.”

Ram knocks his shoulder against Kurt’s. “You’re gay.”

Kurt knocks him back. “ _You’re_ gay.”

Ram takes a moment to ponder this, before nodding and leaning his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “I’m gay.”

“Duh. Everyone already knows, you big dumb loser.” Kurt presses a kiss to Ram’s forehead, which has Ram shuffling in a little closer.

“You’re the big dumb loser…” he pouts.

“I mean, you got me there.” Kurt lays his head over Ram’s. “After all, have you seen my boyfriend?”

“Yeah, and he’s, like, super handsome.”

“I know.” Kurt grins. “I’m super lucky.”

Heather Duke gags. “You know, if I wasn’t totally done with bulimia, I’d take you two with me to purge, because nothing has made me want to vomit more than hearing that exchange.”

“Oh, come on. Leave them be.” Veronica chides. “Look how in love they are! It’s disgusting.”

“I can’t take listening to this for the rest of the year.” Duke replies, straight-faced. “I will die.”

“This won’t last the rest of the year.” Heather Chandler signs. “It’s puppy love. They’ve barely got a week before they have a gigantic fight.”

Ram ducks out from under Kurt’s head and responds with the only sign language he knows, which is less sign language and more him flipping someone off.

Heather responds with the actual sign for “fuck you,” and Ram responds by putting his middle finger a little closer to her face. Kurt can’t help but laugh, though the feeling doesn’t last long.

It’s barely a second before a feeling of uneasiness pricks at his abdomen and his shoulders tense. It feels like someone’s staring at him, and not out of adoration for how awesome he is. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt spots someone coming late to lunch, head trained in his direction.

Kurt turns, but every taunt playing on his lips comes to a screeching halt the second they make eye contact.

JD.

JD.

_JD_.

Kurt can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t _anything_ —all he can feel is the cold night air against his bare skin because it’s fucking cold out and _why did Veronica want to have a three way out here?_ His body is shaking, but his heart is pounding too hard for the cold to really get to him. It feels like forever before Veronica finally gets to three.

The sound of a gunshot has him bolting upright and sprinting in the exact opposite direction. His shoulder’s stinging again— _his shoulder hurts_ —the stitches are burning— _did he just get shot_ — _where the fuck is he?_

Thank God his body knows more than his brain does, because it takes him right into the first stall of the bathroom.

Kurt gets into the stall just in time to chuck up every last bit of his lunch. He’s left gasping for breath and dry-heaving and sobbing and clawing at his skin because maybe if he just hurts himself enough he’ll snap out of this stupid dream and—

An arm clamps down around his shoulders, guiding him into an upright position. Kurt swivels his head, so scared that he’ll see someone he doesn’t want to see but it’s Ram—Ram—it’s Ram—oh God—JD—he’ll—

In a not-so-pleasant surprise, he finds that there’s still some food left in his stomach to spare, and he throws up again. Ram’s hand stays firm on his shoulder, and _maybe it’s the thing that’s keeping him upright_ , he vaguely realizes when he is finally able to note how badly his head is spinning.

It’s only a matter of seconds before his knees start to wobble underneath him, and he collapses against Ram’s shoulder and hides his face in Ram’s neck. Ram’s pulse is thrumming against his ear, but it’s there, and Kurt needs that sound right now.

Ram gives him a couple minutes to regulate his breathing before asking, “Are you okay now, dude?”

He wants to kick himself in the nuts, but Kurt shakes his head as tears start to well up in his eyes.

Ram pulls him into the tightest hug he can manage, and Kurt can’t quite breathe, but he’s not that concerned about breathing right now. He mushes Kurt’s face against his chest and holds him there, just holds him there, for minutes on end.

It doesn’t help, because the longer he has to think, the longer he has to confirm how close he was to losing Ram all over again. JD would be the kind of crazy fucker that brought a gun to school. And he’d had a clear shot. All he’d had to do is aim and _bam_. No more Ram. No more no more he’d tried so _hard_ he fought for everything he can’t _think_ —

Kurt sobs.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” A hand rubs up and down his back, making rough trails over his spine.

It almost soothes him, before another barb of fear stabs into his chest. He physically throws himself away from Ram and begins to pace. He doesn’t have far to go in the cramped bathroom, but damned if he doesn’t try.

“Martha.” He runs to the door, drawing himself to a stop a second short and then pacing over the opposite wall. “Where the fuck is Martha?” _And what if JD got to her, what if he wanted to make some fucked-up commentary on bullying people and she was his next target what if he lost her too what if what if—_

Ram takes a step back, and it’s then that Kurt realizes that he’s taking away the pleasant touch, Kurt’s _anchor_ — “I can go get her, if you want.”

“No! He’ll kill you!”Kurt gropes for Ram’s arm, but his head is spinning so bad that he ends up slumping against the wall behind him and sinking to the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to keep the tears from leaking out of his eyes. “We’re gonna die.”

Ram kneels in front of Kurt, his hands up in a placating manner. “Kurt, babe, you gotta chill out.”

“Fuck you!” Kurt spits, with such force that Ram flinches back. “Our attempted murderer is barely fifty feet away and you want me to calm down! When all I can hear is gunshots?” He’s not even trying to hide that he’s crying now.

Ram’s eyes widen. “No, Kurt, I didn’t mean—” He has the good sense to cut himself off and instead pulls Kurt in for another tight hug.

Kurt doesn’t fight.

Ram’s warmth and the sense of stability that gives, no matter how flimsy, help keep him grounded. The longer his heart goes pounding, the harder it is to discern where he is. His vision keeps playing tricks on him, and he keeps flashing back to that forest…

“I can’t do this.” Kurt whimpers.

Ram pulls back, not by much, but enough to have Kurt digging his fingernails into Ram’s back to keep him close. Though pain pinches his face, Ram covers it remarkably well. “What? Like you need to go home?”

Kurt nods.

“Alright, dude, let’s go home, then.” Ram crouches and opens his arms. “M’lady.”

Kurt stares at him for a long second before shaking his head. As much as he wants to laugh, as much as he wants to pretend things are okay, he needs to get out of this building as quickly as possible. “Not today, man.”

“Dude, I’m offering to carry you like a princess. Come on.”

Kurt hugs himself, the chill of the cold night air starting to lick at his face and neck. “I just wanna go home.”

Ram sags when he realizes the gravity of the situation, that joking around isn’t going to work. “Okay.” He approaches Kurt with caution, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him out of the bathroom.

Kurt distantly notes that Ram’s taking the long way around, the way that doesn’t go near the lunchroom. He’s thankful—he’s so utterly thankful—but he can’t find the will to verbalize it when it’s so hard just to keep where he is and isn’t straight. All he can offer is to rest his head on Ram’s shoulder and hope that Ram gets the point.

The long way has the two of them going past the lockers, where they run into the Heathers collecting their bags.

Kurt takes a deep breath. The Heathers. They weren’t there when it happened, and Heather Chandler was in the hospital when it was. That’s how he knows he’s not there. His fingers tighten around Ram’s wrist.

Heather Chandler shoves one final textbook into her bag. Her hands shake as she does so, and McNamara keeps giving her concerned glances.

Duke notices them first, and her usual sneer is all but gone. There’s genuine concern and maybe even a flash of fear in her eyes as she turns to Kurt and Ram, her hands clasped close to her abdomen.

She doesn’t say anything, but who could blame her? What would she even say?

It’s a long while before Chandler draws herself up, rolling her body with the sexy grace that’s expected of her. When she turns to the boys, her chin is high and her eyes emit a cool boredom, but there’s something oddly plastic about it that Kurt can’t quite place, especially when Heather reaches out and swipes at his cheek.

It’s then that he realizes her makeup is the slightest bit out of place, the tiniest bit runny in the corner, and he does the same for her.

Her shoulders sagging ever so slightly, she begins to sign.

“What’s she saying?” Ram leans in right next to Kurt’s ear, so his voice is barely above a whisper.

“She’s inviting us to her place.” Kurt mumbles, even though he doesn’t want to talk. All it takes is a few words for his breathing to get messed up and then his head is light and it’s cold again _and he’s back in the cemetery and_ —

Heather grabs his hand and tugs him forward. “I’m not dealing with this alone and neither are you,” is what he thinks she signs, but it’s hard to tell when she’s only using one hand.

Ram obediently trails behind them, trying his best to keep his arm around Kurt’s shoulder while also trying not to bump into any of the Heathers. Kurt glances around to see their faces pressed into grim frowns. None of them say a word.

They meet up with Veronica and Martha in the parking lot.

Martha seems fine, thank God, but Veronica looks like hell, all frazzled hair and rumpled clothes. Kurt must be staring, because they lock eyes, and then neither of them can look away.

Veronica stares at him for a long, long moment, until she dashes for him. She slams into his chest, burying her face, and her shoulders hitch with a sob.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

Kurt squeezes her back, because he’s happy that she’s okay too. They aren’t the closest, but Martha loves her and honestly he just really needs a thousand hugs about now. And on some weird level, she’s a comfort in herself. Everyone else is nice, but she’s the only other person that heard the gunshots firsthand.

A hand touches his arm, and he’s jolted from his train of thought to find Martha beside him. Martha smiles up at him, holding out her hand, and Kurt can see that she’s taken Veronica’s free hand in her other.  

With the biggest smile he can manage, which is admittedly nonexistent, he accepts. Her hand is tiny compared to his, but extremely warm.

And right now, that’s all he needs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seven teenagers who are seventeen attempt to be just seventeen
> 
> it doesn't work all that well

On the ride back to Heather Chandler’s, the only thing keeping Kurt together is the pair of hands he’s holding.

Ram is on his left, Martha on his right, and every so often, one of them will squeeze his hand to serve as a reminder of where he’s at. And thank God for that, because the car interior has tried to shift into the cemetery more than once.

By the time they get to Heather’s place, he’s absolutely exhausted. The arm Ram has around him is half-comfort, half-the only fucking thing keeping him upright. So when a couch is presented before him, Kurt promptly collapses face-first.

“Cuddle pile on Kurt!” McNamara cheers. Despite the enthusiasm in her voice, she gently lowers herself on top of him and rests her chin on top of his head. Martha giggles before sitting beside him, close enough for him to reach up and hold her hand. Chandler sits on the other end of the L-shaped couch, resting her head in Martha’s lap and also taking his hand. Heather Duke curls up beside him, halfway on his back, halfway not. Veronica sprawls out over the top like a cat. Her knuckles bump against his shoulder, which he supposes is a sign of affection.

“Careful, bro, someone might think you’re straight buried underneath all these girls.” Ram sits on the floor beside the couch, leaning back so his head knocks against Kurt’s.

Kurt has to smile at that. “Shut up. I have a harem.” With the arm that’s currently not being pinned under Heather Duke’s ass, he places his hand over Ram’s heart and gives himself a moment to take in the sound of his boyfriend’s heartbeat.

Here he is. Okay. Whole. Alive. JD tried and failed, and now he can’t try again. Honestly, what kind of idiot would let JD near dangerous objects after everything he’d done? There’s no way.

McNamara shifts her weight on top of him. Her boobs are squished up against his back, hard enough that he can feel her heartbeat as well. Kurt takes a shallow breath. There it is. Another heartbeat. One more person that wouldn’t be alive if JD had succeeded. It’s all okay.

“Someone wanna put on a movie so we’re not all sitting here in a weird silence?” Veronica requests.

McNamara shakes her head. “I’m comfy.”

“Same.” Duke agrees.

“I’m underneath two Heathers.” Kurt points out.

“Alright. I know how this’ll end.” With a groan, Veronica pulls herself off the couch and over to Heather’s gigantic collection of VHS tapes. “Any requests?”

“ _Friday the 13 th_!” Duke pipes up.

Veronica glares. “Fuck you. I’m putting in _Fast Times_.”

She inserts the tape and promptly returns to her spot, which she only gets up from to put another movie in.

In that night, they end up getting through five or six movies.

Every time without fail, someone points out that Veronica’s not rewinding the tapes, which is apparently the only rule in the Chandler household, and Veronica responds to with “if Heather doesn’t like it, then _she_ can get up and change the tapes.” Then there’s silence, meaning that Heather’s probably signing, but she never goes into Kurt’s field of vision, so she can’t be too mad.

The onslaught of movies at least gives him other things to think about, and he’s noticed that Veronica’s only picking movies without gratuitous murder, so she must be leaning the same way.

By the time they reach the end of the fifth movie, which is _Back to the Future_ , there’s a long pause before anyone moves or even speaks.

With an audible shift of her body, Veronica yawns. “Guys, I’m about ready to pass out.”

“What time is it anyway?” McNamara asks.

Mopping a hand over her face, Veronica checks her watch. “It’s eleven.”

McNamara nods. “I gotta call my parents and tell them I’m spending the night.”

Duke obligingly moves aside, allowing her to roll off and stalk into the kitchen. “I’ll go get the blankets and shit,” she mutters, making it clear that she’d fallen asleep somewhere around movie number three. Heather Chandler follows her.

Ram leans back and brushes his fingers over Kurt’s cheek. “How ya holding up, dude?”

“I’m fine.” Kurt answers, and he almost means it. The movie marathon did a lot for him getting a hold of himself.

Ram’s face falls into an uneasy smile. “Cool.”

McNamara’s head pops out from the kitchen. “No one picked up, so I’m taking that as a yes. Anyone else?”

The group collectively shakes their heads.

A weird, guttural noise reverberates off the walls, leading back to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Kurt cranes his neck to see what’s going on. “What the hell?”

“Heather’s going her salt water gargle and throat exercises.” Heather McNamara plops onto the space beside Martha. “She does it before bed.”

“Oh.” Well, that explains why he’s never seen her do it before. Not that that explanation does anything to calm the spike of adrenaline he felt, imaging JD coming to finish off a girl who can’t even scream.

Heather Duke comes back with an armful of blankets, and Martha and McNamara immediately go about building a blanket fort over top of Veronica. And while Veronica is able to muster a smile, she still looks on the brink of crying. She and Kurt make eye contact while he sits up to stretch, but it barely lasts a second before she ducks her head.

He can’t blame her for freaking out, especially after today. They were all freaking out and overhyped on emotion. It makes sense that she’d regret crying and throwing herself at someone she was almost responsible for killing. In fact, he and Ram probably stand as the same reminder that she does for him. It’s for the best if they leave each other alone.

An arm wraps around his shoulder, tucking a blanket around his body, and Ram leans in, gently knocking their heads together.

“I’m not going anywhere, dude.” Ram murmurs.

“You better fucking not.” Kurt ignores the footsteps from down the hall, pretending like he won’t hear a shriek and a gunshot any second now. “I’d be pissed.” He leans into Ram’s chest, reveling in the warmth.

The Heathers bundle together on the far end of the couch, and while Kurt watches carefully, like Veronica, Heather Chandler is unwilling to meet his eye.

Kurt lets his eyes slip shut. Hopefully that means they can put today behind them for good. Unlikely, since they’d have to see JD basically every day for the rest of the school year, but for now, the idea is enough to put him at ease.

It’s barely an hour before Kurt jolts awake screaming.

Everyone instantly jolts awake—Veronica so violently that she threw herself off the couch.

Ram’s the first one to spring into action. He bolts upright and grabs Kurt to keep him from thrashing as hard.

“Kurt! Kurt!” Ram cries, shaking Kurt’s shoulders, but it only serves to make his boyfriend even more panicked.

Kurt thrashes against the hands holding him, his eyes wide, terrified, and unfocused. “You killed my best friend!”

“Dude, no, snap out of it!” Ram shakes a little harder. “You’re not in the cemetery, man! It’s fine!”

“I was just kidding about the Bo Diddley thing!” Kurt cries. His breathing escalates into hyperventilating as he tugs at the hands holding him.

Ram drops him in a second, and Kurt flops back against the couch cushions. He’s panting, breathing like he’s running hard, before coiling into a small ball and hugging himself. His breathing shallows from there, until he’s whimpering. His lips are barely moving, and if Ram strains his ears, he can hear Kurt just repeating “so cold, so cold, so cold.”

Kurt’s mantra continues on for five minutes—five tense minutes of six horrified teenagers sharing looks of desperation because none of them have any idea what to do—until it fades into silence.

Kurt goes slack, his breathing evens, and he rolls over onto his other side, like nothing had woken him up in the first place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my knuckles are bleeding because i spent the entire chapter smashing the fourth wall with my fist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look at that i'm not dead

Kurt tries not to think about The Day.

Not the morning before where his dad made them breakfast, not the lunchroom incident, and definitely nothing at Heather Chandler’s house.

If he shuts his eyes tight enough, he can pretend none of it happened. He can pretend Martha and Heather Duke didn’t make brownies for him, that Heather Mac didn’t hug his arm and cry about that being “the scariest fucking thing she’d ever seen,” or that Heather Chandler locked herself in her room and refused to come out. But most of all he can forget the way that Ram hugged him, digging his fingers like Kurt could disappear on him.

Nope.

None of that here.

The teacher— _what class is this? Science? He doesn’t feel real enough to know_ —drones on about something, but his syllables come out smashed together, and Kurt can’t register more than a white noise.

Kurt flips his pencil onto its eraser, pushing the lead end into the pad of his index finger. With a way to fidget, he turns back to his notes, which are mediocre at best, and tries to at least register what the teacher is saying.

School’s a big exhausting mess, but at least it gives him something to think about besides JD. JD, who wants him dead and—no. No. Stop. Kurt shifts the pencil under his middle finger and resumes pushing down on it. Focus on cells or plants or whatever.

Five minutes into Kurt struggling to pick apart nonsense words like “chlorophyll,” a hand clamps over his. Kurt glances up, and Ram offers him a small smile before swiping the pencil right out of his hand.

Kurt is about to get indignant when he becomes aware of the ache in his fingertips and looks down to see tiny gray holes peppered over his fingers. Then, when he looks up, the rest of the class had already cleared out. How long had he been sitting there?

Ram takes his hand, clasping it tightly in his own. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” It was such a terrible lie that he couldn’t even keep up his conviction for half of it.

Ram grunts but says nothing else. Kurt’s barely stood up by the time Ram pulls him in and wraps an arm around his shoulder. They’re close, and maybe a bit too close since Kurt can barely walk without their legs trying to get tangled, but he appreciates the closeness.

He leads Kurt right to the Heathers, who are waiting in a lopsided triangle outside of the lunchroom. The smell of half-cooked chicken nuggets wafts over to him. Right. It’s lunchtime.

“Veronica, please?”

“I dunno.” Veronica mutters. “I feel weird about it.”

“Hey. What’s going on?” Kurt asks. That’s what a normal person would say, right? Someone that wasn’t having an eight-hour-long panic attack.

“Heather didn’t come to school today.” Heather McNamara explains. “We need someone to be the front of our triangle.”

“And I wish you the best of luck but it isn’t going to be me.” Veronica’s eyes narrow as she studies Kurt’s face. Of course she would be the one to realize something was off. “You okay?”

Kurt drops his eyes to his shoes. “Is Martha around?”

Veronica’s face softens. “Yeah. I can go get her. Hang tight, okay?” She runs a hand down his arm as she brushes past.

Once she’s gone, the two Heathers look at each other. “You know, Martha might make a good front of the triangle.” McNamara points out.

Duke frowns for a second, but after a glance at Kurt, refrains from the Martha Dumptruck comment no doubt hanging on her tongue. “Still, yellow and green and pink? Red is perfect, we could get away with blue, but _pink_?”

“Just pretend her red sweater got washed out at the dry cleaner’s.”

“I guess…” Duke glances up. “What about Kurt? His jacket’s red.”

Now it’s McNamara’s turn to look unsure. “But he’s taller.”

“Makes it easier to walk and hug at the same time.” Duke answers, and that’s all McNamara needs to be sold.

“Cuddle triangle!” McNamara cheers, and somehow there’s enough strength in that little manic-pixie body of hers to shove Ram out of the way. Duke hugs him from the other side.

Kurt offers a tiny laugh. “Thanks.”

“We’re gonna have to change things around, though.” Duke pauses to think. “Heather, Heather, and a hunk.”

McNamara giggles. “Perfect.”

With a real, actual smile on his face, Kurt glances up at Ram, only to find that his attention is elsewhere. He begins to walk away.

“Ram?” Kurt catches Ram’s eye for a second, and his stomach drops to see the absolute fury blazing in Ram’s expression. He leaves without a word.

He walks into the lunchroom, out of Kurt’s line of sight.

“What’s going on?” McNamara asks.

They collectively skitter into the doorway, ignoring the usual lunch tray salute that greets them.

“What’s he doing?” Duke hisses.

Ram proceeds to the furthest lunch table, the one in the far back. No matter how full the other tables are, no matter how crowded the lunchroom is, it remains empty.

Duke catches what’s going on before he does. “Oh no…”

Kurt sees the head of messy black hair, but his heart rate can’t even bump up a notch before Ram _nails JD in the face._

JD can barely glance up from his lunch before he’s sent sprawling onto the floor. All heads snap in their direction. Lunch trays clatter to the floor.

“You leave Kurt and me alone!” Ram booms. “Got it?”

Kurt digs his fingernails into his arms, trying to capture the sense of semi-clarity he had in science class. Doesn’t Ram know that’ll only make things worse? JD will only be so much angrier—he’ll want revenge even worse— _what if he has a gun on him right now?_

Distantly, he hears someone mutter, “Oh, goddammit, you leave for five minutes…”

A warm hand clasps around his wrist, and he jerks his head to see Martha standing beside him. A brief flash of fear shines in her eyes, and he could only image because he looks like such a wreck, but she puts on her best soothing smile immediately after. And despite her attempt to keep him grounded, Kurt can’t keep it together anymore.

He turns heel and sprints, out of the lunchroom, out of the school. The secretary tries to stop him on the way out, but he couldn’t stop his legs if he wanted to. JD’s probably right behind him—if he could just run a little _faster_ this time. He runs as fast as he can.

He doesn’t stop—even when he’s at his front door, he only slows down. He only stops running when he’s safe in his bathroom, door locked.

From there, he curls up on the floor, fingernails digging deep into his scalp, and tries his hardest not to burst into tears.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry

Kurt almost falls apart when Ram walks into his room.

His insides are mangled, and he spent most of the afternoon having a panic attack and throwing up, but if he could just have a quiet evening curled into Ram’s chest, maybe things could start to seem okay.

The tension falls out of Ram’s shoulders the second they lock eyes, and it helps undo the knots in Kurt’s chest. Ram’s just as scared, as damaged. He’ll understand. He’ll help.

“Kurt.” He sprints the distance between them and pulls Kurt in for a kiss. The way his mouth moves around Kurt’s is hungry, almost desperate. He holds Kurt, one hand and the back of his head on the other on his shoulder. His grip is tight, and it hurts enough that Kurt almost falls back apart.

Kurt shrinks back. The tiny, weaker side of him is begging for physical affection, for gentleness. He feels like any bit of manhandling might just cause him to break.

But Ram doesn’t let him go. He clings to Kurt’s torso and kisses Kurt’s neck. The kisses are just as hungry as before, if not more so. He holds even tighter this time.

Kurt squirms to no avail. Ram doesn’t even react to his movements, too wrapped up in intimacy, so he has to resort to shoving. Ram stumbles back.

“Dude! What’s your problem?” Ram spits.

Kurt shies back. What’s with the sudden aggression?

Ram continues unprompted. “I was trapped at school all fucking day, and I was scared out of my mind! They wouldn’t let me leave and I didn’t know where you were!” His face twists in fury as Kurt flinches away from his spastic, flailing arm movements. It only makes things worse. “Why don’t you want me to touch you?” Ram growls, his voice cracking. “Why am I never enough?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Kurt rasps. He ignores the skip of his heart and the dread snaking around in his gut. “And why are you suddenly acting like such a douche canoe?”

Ram couldn’t look more insulted if he tried. He chest is heaving, but he’s barely able to keep his voice below a yell. “Sorry that I’m pissed that I’m losing my boyfriend to Martha fucking Dumptruck!”

Something snaps inside Kurt. The last thing he’d wanted was a fight, but there’s no way he’s letting that go. He puffs his chest out, matching Ram’s aggressive stance. He could stand being berated, after all, look at who his dad used to be, but he’ll be damned if he stands by while someone insults one of his only lifelines. He shoves at Ram again. “Don’t fucking call her that!”

Kurt’s mind blinks out of commission for a moment, leaving Kurt pinned up against the nearest wall, Ram’s fist wadded in his shirt and Ram growling in his face. “Or _what_?”

Did he…?

Had he really…?

Kurt stares, wide-eyed up at Ram. His face is twisted in a scowl, his cheeks reddened. And for a second, just for a second, Kurt finds himself looking at someone he doesn’t recognize.

Ram yanks his hands away, turning his full body away from Kurt as he begins to pace, all the while grumbling, “Goddammit, _goddammit_ , Kurt, I’m doing everything I can! God- _dammit_.”

Kurt tugs at his sleeves. How could Ram think he was helping when he only made things worse? “By punching people? Ram, that’s not who we are anymore. I thought you’d learned!” Kurt’s kept up at night more often than not thinking about how terrible he and Ram used to be to everyone. So how is it that Ram can fall back into that behavior so easily?

Ram stops cold, turning his full attention back on Kurt. His eyes are blazing the same way they’d done in the cafeteria, except now Kurt was about to be on the wrong end of that fist.

Ram narrows his eyes and stalks closer. “So, what?” he hisses. “I’m not allowed to protect you? Everyone else gets to be close to you.” When he’s too close for comfort, he begins shouting. “Tell me what I have to do to have that! Why can’t you just be happy for once? I’m trying so hard to help, but that doesn’t mean a goddamn thing to you, does it?”

Kurt doesn’t say anything. He can’t. It’s like someone’s cut the line between his brain and his mouth, and even if someone hadn’t, how was he even supposed to respond to that?

Apparently, his silence is all the answer Ram needs. “Fuck it. I don’t need this. I’m done.”

He can’t mean that.

Kurt opens his mouth, even if he doesn’t know what to say, other than that he’s terrified and he’s sorry he’s a bad boyfriend, but he can’t make the words come out. His hand is shaking as he reaches out, and he grips onto Ram’s jacket like a lifeline. And in a way, it kind of is.

“I said I’m done!” Ram shouts, throwing his arm out to push Kurt away. He leaves without another word.

Kurt leans back against the wall and sinks to the floor, trying to make sense of everything, as he listens to Ram stomp down the stairs. The way he slams the door rattles the whole house.

He’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super not confident about this scene but i tried ok?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i promised some chandler angst so here you go
> 
> and i'm sorry about last time
> 
> hope this makes up for it

“Heather?”

Heather McNamara lets herself in the front door, trying to ignore the dead silence of the house.

It’s nothing new for Heather’s place, but with how Not Okay she’s been, McNamara can’t help but worry.

She tries the living room first, since Heather likes to sit in the main room and read poetry—or at least that’s what she pretends to do when she hears someone at the front door, so that’s where she’ll probably be. McNamara frowns at the empty living room. So much for that idea.

Then she hears it.

Crying.

“Heather?”

It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen.

Heather Chandler, mythic bitch and queen of the school, is slumped over her kitchen counter, sobbing into a bottle of vodka. And for quite some time, too, judging by the look of her eyeliner.

“Heather!” McNamara rushes over and tries to wrestle the bottle from Chandler’s hands. “You know you’re not supposed to drink! You’ll only make your throat worse!”

Chandler swings her elbow, hitting McNamara in the shoulder and forcing her to stumble back. “ _Fuck. OFF!_ ” Her voice is garbled, strangled, so rough that it makes McNamara cringe. “You can’t tell me what to do!” A splatter of blood falls onto her lip and chin as she yells. How long had she been drinking?

“Heather, give me the bottle.” McNamara commands. She’s trying to be commanding, so she hopes the tears in her eyes won’t give her away. “Come on, you were doing so well. Do you really wanna set your progress back?”

“Oh, fuck off!” Heather spits. “What does it even fucking matter? What does _anything_ matter? I could die any goddamn second and no one would even fucking blink because neurotic fucking Heather Chandler is just that much of a suicidal pussy!”

McNamara finally manages to tear the bottle free. She runs to the sink and pours out what’s left as fast as she can, so by the time Chandler is screaming in her ear and trying to grab it back, it’s empty.

Heather snatches the empty bottle, staring into it as her eyes fill with tears once more. “Because they’re right.” The bottle slips from her hands, shattering at her feet. The room smells heavily of vodka. Heather sinks to the floor and tucks her face into her knees, her body wracked with sobs once more.

“Oh, Heather.” McNamara eases onto her knees beside her, careful to brush away the broken glass before either of them gets cut.

“What’s the point? All I’m ever gonna be is the bitch that writes poetry. I’m not smart enough or ugly enough to go to college. And what kind of place wants to hire a mute bitch? I’m gonna be stuck mooching off my shitty parents  that couldn’t give less of a fuck about me forever.” Her tears spill down her cheeks. “Why couldn’t he just finish the fucking job?”

McNamara snatches her friend up into a hug, cradling Heather’s head against her chest. “No more thinking about him. He gets into your head way too much.” She should’ve known. _She should’ve known_ that this would happen. But fuck her right up the ass for being optimistic, huh? “And Heather Condo is happening, whether you like it or not.”

“We need a new name for it. Veronica told me she’s on board.”

“We’ll get a new name for it.”

“And I want Kurt and Ram to be there, too.”

McNamara chuckles. “Okay. Now no more talking. It’s not good for you.” She holds Chandler a little closer, when a sudden thought strikes her. “Hey, what has more edge than a hexagon but still doesn’t have a point?” She pauses the appropriate amount of time, relieved to find that Heather didn’t try to answer. “JD’s existence.”

Chandler grins despite herself.

McNamara preens. Heather pretends like she isn’t too big of a fun of the dumb JD jokes, but McNamara can see the way the work to allay her fears. They’re hard to write, and that’s why she has a notebook full of them for when she needs them, but for Heather’s sake, it’s well worth it. “What do you call Nietzsche after a lobotomy?” She grins. “JD’s sense of morality.”

Heather rolls her eyes, but her shoulders shake with laughter.

“Okay, okay, okay. One more.” McNamara takes a quick breath. “Who’s the baddest bitch I know that came back from the dead and that I love very much?”

Heather furrows her brow.

“ _You_.” Before Heather’s aware of what she’s doing, McNamara pecks Heather’s cheek, ignoring the eyeliner that smears her lips as a result. “Now, come on. Let’s get you to bed so you can rest and shit.”

Heather draws herself up to her feet and, though she doesn’t need the support, wraps an arm around McNamara’s shoulders.

Her legs nearly collapse out from under her when she reaches her bed. Her clock reads midnight. She should’ve gone to bed a while ago, since her doctor kept stressing she needed to rest, but sobbing hysterically during a suicidal bout makes it hard to keep track of the time.

Heather jumps as something touches her from behind. For a split second, her mind is flooded with images of blood and death, of JD and drain cleaner and handguns, but the feeling comes as quickly as it goes. It’s Heather. Of course. Who else would it be?

A wetted brush runs through her hair, pulling it back into a bun. McNamara hums as she works.

She takes off Heather’s jewelry and jacket next, leaving Heather in a rumpled white blouse that does _not_ look good on its own. Not that McNamara cares. And that’s…kind of a relief.

Chandler’s well aware that her makeup looks like shit, but McNamara is too nice to say that. She only smiles comfortingly as she rubs a cool washcloth over Chandler’s face, until all traces of her makeup are gone.

“There. I’ll go get you some ice cream.” Chandler isn’t sure to laugh or cry when she sees McNamara coming back with two spoons and an entire pint of rocky road. “One more thing,” Heather tells her before skittering off.

She takes a small bite. The ice cream is soothing against her aching and raw throat. God, why had she even wanted to drink so much in the first place? Because of JDick? Please. He wasn’t worth shit. And he couldn’t do anything. Not to her. Not when she has Heather on her side.

Admittedly, some days it’s more of a curse than a blessing, and some days it makes her feel insufferably weak. But whether she likes it or not, Heather _gets_ her, understands her on a level she thinks no one else in the world ever could.

Heather has trouble thinking about it sometimes. More often than not, it’s hard to believe it’s actually real.

McNamara and Duke visited her in the hospital constantly, but the second McNamara was alone, she sat on Heather’s bedside, pulled her in for a hug, and whispered, “You didn’t really wanna kill yourself, did you? You didn’t do it.” Heather’s still reeling from that.

Because according to Heather McNamara, she “knows a suicidal neurotic Heather when she sees one,” and from personal experience, heartbreakingly enough. Heather just thanks her lucky stars that she didn’t die, that McNamara had someone to talk to so the bad thoughts didn’t get the best of her. She couldn’t fathom what would happen if she were dead.

An image flashes through her mind, that of Heather, curled up on the bathroom floor, dead. Drool drips onto the cold tiles, pooling around the empty pill bottle loose in her hand.

Heather wipes the tears from her eyes. The image never fails to send her spiraling, and she tries to forget it as best she can. At least she has a way to comfort herself, to know that that will never happen. They both have someone to confide in now, someone they can drop all the lies and pretenses for.

She glances up to find McNamara staring, brow furrowed, and before she can try to make an excuse, Heather’s on her feet. She makes a beeline for Chandler’s closet, and Chandler has to keep herself from groaning.

Big Ugly Blanket.

Big Ugly Blanket was a gift from her grandmother, and, as the name implies, it’s big and ugly. Even multiple washings couldn’t purge the smell of “old woman that has way too many teacups and/or cats” from the fabric, and Heather had long given up on trying.

For the most part, it sits in her closet. Hell, the only reason she was even reminded of its existence was because Heather McNamara fished it out to finish their blanket fort. And despite its terrible look and smell, its amazingly warm, and even if Heather isn’t on great terms with her grandmother anymore, she still finds comfort in the gift.

McNamara throws the blanket over the two of them and cuddles Heather close. MTV is playing on her personal TV, just loud enough to be noticeable but quiet enough to keep from fucking with her too much. She rests her head against McNamara’s chest.

Heather lifts her fist, lifting her thumb, index finger, and pinkie.

_I love you._

McNamara smiles. Her cheeks go red, making her freckles look like stars. She returns the sign without a second thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay but back to kurt-centric angst

The next day is…weird.

The way everyone watches him, stares like they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, makes everything feel so out of place and _wrong_. Not that he needed help feeling like he was a sideshow freak, but he could do fine without the constant affirmation of the fact.

Everything he knew, everything he was used to, had essentially been crumpled up, ripped into a thousand pieces, and dumped at his feet. And now he had to brave everyone’s stares on top of that.

How much did they know? Had Ram told the football team? Or was he telling everyone that would listen what a bad boyfriend Kurt was? Was he taking his anger out on more people that didn’t deserve it? Kurt wouldn’t know. By the time lunch rolled around, he still hadn’t seen Ram all day.

“Hey, Kurt?”

Kurt jolts up from his locker, a thousand apologies ready on his tongue. He doesn’t mean to, but seeing Ram in front of him makes him melt and want nothing more than to put the fight behind them and pretend everything’s okay for however long they nap for. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words are too scrambled to come out right.

“Oh, there it is.” Ram reaches past him, taking his varsity jacket out from Kurt’s locker. “Cool.” He turns, and Kurt’s stomach drops.

He throws out the most words his stuttering brain can manage, regardless of if Ram will approve or not. “Hey, are we still throwing a party this weekend?” _Please say yes please say yes. Can’t be alone tonight. Can’tcan’tcan’t._

Ram shifts his gaze to the wall, intently reading the posters even as he speaks. “Actually, I’m just gonna be staying with my mom for break.”

“Oh…” _What?_

“Yeah…” Ram takes a small step back. “So, um, see you later, I guess.”

“Bye.” Kurt watches Ram go, a numbness spreading from his chest and into his arms and head.

Ram’s barely out of sight before the people around him start to murmur. Not that Kurt can make out any of what they’re saying. Their words form a cluster of sounds, a storm around him that threatens to swallow him whole. He can’t be here anymore. He can’t do this.

Kurt makes a break for the exit, all the while trying to look like he isn’t have the third public freakout this week. He keeps his head down, trying to keep from knocking shoulders with other students and failing miserably. Not that he _wants_ to be that rude, aggressive bully again, but everyone’s in his way and there’s no way out _and he feels like he’s gonna throw up—_ He can’t breathe—he can’t breathe— _he can’t be here—_

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Kurt jumps, and the fresh air knocks him in the face. When did he get outside? When did…fuck it. He turns.

Veronica gives him a nod. She’s perched on the stone railing. A normal person might be concerned about smoking right outside the principal’s office, but that was Heather privileges for you.

“What are you doing out here?” Kurt asks, before she could ask him first.

“I come out here to smoke and stare into the void. Sometimes the Heather hangouts have too much perfume to properly brood.” She takes another long drag and adds, “Plus, it irritates my sinuses.”

“Where’s Martha? Or the Heathers?” He cringes as the words are out of his mouth, knowing half of the answer already. Chandler is still nowhere to be seen, and now McNamara has disappeared too. Kurt just hopes they’re both okay.

“Martha would come, but smoking makes her uncomfortable.” Veronica explains. “So I guess it’s alone time, too.”

“I can, uh, go.” Kurt suggests, but in all honesty, he has no idea where he’d even go. He guesses he could curl up in the bathroom or hide in one of the Heather hangouts, but those places came with people, and he’d really like to be alone about now.

“No, you can stay. It’s fine. I think I’d appreciate someone with just as much static as me.” Veronica offers him a cigarette. “Smoke?”

Well, he can’t say he doesn’t find the smell the tiniest bit comforting. His mom used to smoke all the time when he was little, and a lot of those memories contain more clarity than they should. He still remembers being four years old, perched up on his mother’s lap. She’d cradle him close, one leg tucked underneath her and the other nudging against the ground to keep the old porch swing swaying.

Kurt accepts. He sits beside her, keeping a small distance between them. He lights up and takes a drag, watching as the smoke curls and twists above his head.

The two smoke in silence, for the longest time, and Kurt’s relieved to finally feel the knot in his chest start to go loose. He can almost think straight again.

Veronica’s hand knocks against his, bringing him out of his head. Her eyes are sad, distant, and he knows this conversation isn’t going to be fun. “I didn’t know he was coming back either.” Veronica admits. She scoots closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Kurt lays his head over hers.

“Did you have a panic attack too?” He probably shouldn’t ask, but all he needs is a single person, someone that doesn’t run away and leave him to panic all alone. He just needs someone.

Veronica nods. “I even threw up my lunch.” She sounds so broken, so unlike the Veronica that could throw off two sexual assailants without blinking.

Kurt takes her hand in his own and holds it tight. “Same here.”

“I was hoping I never had to see him again. Not after…well, all of that.”

Was she really trying to bring the murder incident up? Sure, Kurt didn’t know everything that had happened on her end, but with how she was acting, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. “You don’t gotta…”

“I know. I…want to.”

That sounded like a lie if he’d ever heard one, but he wasn’t going to stop her.

“After Ram…After you…After JD…” She pauses for a very long time before she can start up again. Kurt pretends not to feel the way her shoulders are trembling. She must realize that too, because she pulls away and focuses on lighting another cigarette. “We…fought each other for the gun. I got it away from him, but that didn’t stop him. It was like he knew I was too scared to fire. And he kept talking about all these plans he had. Told me there was homemade TNT back in his room, that he was going to plant it in the school to get rid of all my problems. And he kept repeating how much he loved me, and that he was doing it all for me. It was horrifying, so…I ended up firing.” Veronica takes a long drag and sighs. “I caught him in the leg. It was pure luck that a police car was doing its rounds. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do that a second time.”

“That sucks.” It’s weak and dumb, but what else can Kurt really say? This whole situation sucks. Plain and simple.

Veronica gives another puff before tilting her head back against the wall behind her. “Even when they cuffed him, he was still screaming about how ‘our love is God’ and ‘the only place Heathers and Marthas can get along is in heaven.’” Her eyes slip shut. “Now every time I fall asleep, the only thing I can dream about is him planting a Norwegian in the boiler room.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, because what else could he possibly say? The next thing he thinks of is equally weak. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“I think the only thing that could help me now is a key to Doc Brown’s lab. I should’ve never tried to rise above perpetual dork-dom.”

“Well, I don’t.” Kurt shudders to imagine a Westerburg High without Veronica’s influence. He’d still be smacking lunch trays and being an overall insufferable dick. And Ram, well at this rate, Ram wouldn’t change much, but that still isn’t something Kurt wants to revisit.

“You and Ram would still be talking to each other.” Veronica finishes. “Oh, the wonderful things I’ve done.”

“Ram’s an asshole.” Kurt decides after a few moments. “I don’t…I don’t think I want him around me anymore.”

Veronica gawks. No doubt she’s thinking what everyone else has been thinking, that _they’re inseparable how does that even happen?_ “Can I ask what happened?” It takes her a second for her own words to sink in, but the second they do, Veronica trips over herself trying to explain. “I mean, you don’t have to. It had to be pretty fucked up. But everyone’s noticed it, and maybe it would help if you talked about it, you know?”

“Yeah.” Kurt holds at his arm, silently begging her to cuddle in close. Personal touch is…nice, he’s finding, and since everyone in school sees him as an effeminate fag, touch isn’t so hard to come by anymore. Veronica shuffles back in, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, as he does for her. “Ram was really freaked out after I bolted. And…I don’t know…I guess I just wasn’t in the mood for a makeout session.”

“He tried to tongue you after all that? _And_ he turned it into a fight?” Veronica rolls her eyes. “What a fucking loser.”

“So we started yelling at each other, then he stormed out. And the whole school’s been staring at me weird since.”

Veronica reaches up, tugging her fingers through his hair. “You don’t deserve to be yelled at.”

Did he though? After all, it was his stupid brain’s fault that he was acting like such a douche. Anybody would get fed up with that. “I already miss him.”

“Oh, Kurt.” Before he can even realize what’s happening, he’s being swept up into a hug, and he clings back, because, dammit, Veronica doesn’t deserve to feel shitty either.

Fuck this shitty fucking situation.

“You know, you give killer hugs.” Veronica mutters.

“That’s a terrible choice of words.”

Veronica laughs, her body shaking so hard that it’s hard to tell when she transitioned into sobbing. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Kurt squeezes her tighter, because she’s all he has right now and damned if he’d let her slip away like everyone else. “I’m sorry too.”

They stay that way long after the lunch bell rings, holding onto their tiny sense of security for all that it’s worth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dead gay son except he's only dead inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys listen i'm so sorry that i left this story hanging for like a week but listen i was writing a book i have a book published ain't that rad?
> 
> i'm so sorry

Kurt stares out his window, watching the water slide down the glass and pool on the sill.

The house is empty. He doesn’t know where his dad’s at, but he hasn’t heard a thing from him all day, which has resulted in Kurt pacing the house and trying not to think about the multiple ways that Paul could’ve died horribly. He exhausted himself before five, where he had a half-hearted dinner and promptly collapsed in his room.

He lies on his bed, sprawled out on the empty space that suddenly feels too big for just him. He feels it every time he shifts, the ache of space, the lack of another person beside him. He tries not to give it a name, tries not to think of _Ram_ , but he finds it impossible. He spends hours just tossing and turning.

By the time night falls, Kurt’s gotten so used to the ache of silence that the faint scratching from downstairs roars in comparison.

Kurt can’t help his heart speeding up. It’s such a small noise that it could be anything, even a tree branch hitting the window, but all he can picture is JD picking the lock. Working silently, slowly, so he doesn’t draw that much attention. Using the whistling of the wind to swing the door open. Creeping up the stairs, sticking to the sides to avoid the creaks. And by the time Kurt realizes he’s there—

Kurt clamps his hands over his ears, forcing himself to take a deep breath. His nails dig into his scalp, the pain giving him something else to focus on. He has to calm down, and if he won’t make himself, then no one else will.

It’s nothing. It has to be nothing. Because there aren’t any good reasons for there to be scratching outside his house at night.

But the scratching persists, and Kurt soon finds that he’s out of excuses and out of explanations. His body is prepped for the worst, prepped for another setup and attempt on his life. But this time, there’s no way he’s letting that bullshit happen again.

Kurt grabs the baseball bat from his closet. He’s been out of practice since the baseball season finished up, but he can still manage a pretty wicked swing if he needs to. His steady heartbeat wavers. Somehow, grabbing the bat solidifies his fears, making everything he’s scared off that more real. By the time he’s out of his room, he’s convinced himself he’s heading down for a fight.

He tiptoes down the stairs, careful to avoid the sections that creak as he makes his way to the bottom.

The scratching gets louder the closer he gets, but the sound is still so faint that he’s amazed he heard it in the first place. It’s the sound of something scratching wood, so what would that be?

He drags his feet over the carpeted floor, trying to keep his steps as quiet as possible.

The scratching persists, growing louder and louder the closer Kurt gets. The sounds coming from the back door, in the kitchen.

Kurt pulls to a stop right in front of the door. He can hear the scratching as clear as day on the other side, so whatever it is can’t be more than a foot away from him. It hasn’t heard him yet, or else it would’ve bolted. So many he can get the drop on it. _It_. Because it’s not JD. He won’t allow it to be.

He grips the bat a little tighter and rips the door open, but he only finds himself staring at empty air. He tenses his arms, ready to find someone hiding around the corner, an ambush of sorts. If they wanted to get the drop on him, they had another thing coming. He’d be ready for the motherfuckers.

A mewl breaks through the silence, and Kurt glances down at his feet.

It’s a cat.

It’s a fucking _cat_.

Kurt nearly collapses to his knees out of pure relief.

The kitten blinks at him. Its midnight fur is soaked from the rain, making it look even smaller than it already is. It can’t be more than a few months old.

The tenseness melts out of Kurt’s body, flowing down from his shoulders and chest and leaking out of his fingertips. There’s no danger. Nothing to fight. Nothing to run from. It’s just a cat.

“Come here.” He sets aside the bat and gathers the soaking wet kitten up against his chest. Its small enough to fit comfortably in one hand.

She nuzzles against him, cuddling into his warmth.

Kurt lets out a shuddery chuckle. It’s just a cat, he reminds himself. Nothing to be scared of.

He sets her on the counter to dry her off with a dishtowel.

Once she’s dry, she hops off the counter and pads around the room, curiously poking her nose into just about everything she can.

Kurt leans over the counter, letting out deep breath after deep breath. The knots in his chest are steadily unwinding, all because of a dumb cat. He can’t help but laugh. This is a whole new level of low, even for him.

Then there’s a knock.

His shoulders tense, more from the noise than the actual idea of what could be on the other side. It’s hard to feel scared when there’s a kitten trying and failing to jump on your couch, after all.

Kurt casts a sidelong glance at the kitten before heading to the door. Just as a precaution, he picks up the bat again. It’s more for his sanity’s sake than for actual protection—at least that’s what he thought before he glanced through the peephole.

_JD._

Kurt’s legs wobble dangerously, threatening to fall out from underneath him. He slumps against the door, bracing his shoulders against it, as if that could ever be enough to keep JD out. He can imagine JD kicking wildly on the other side, the wood splintering, the deadbolt breaking. The door wouldn’t last a minute.

This couldn’t be real. After all the bullshit he’d had to go through today, this had to be the shit cherry on top. He can’t even bring himself to get angry before his body is overcome with a visceral, almost primal sense of fear.

Knock, knock.

The vibrations spread through his body, rattling his ribcage so badly that he feels like his lungs are being crushed. He can’t breathe, can’t even try. His heart is thrashing wildly against his lungs, his ribcage, everything.

He’s past the point of panic attack now, leaving him floating in a body that doesn’t feel like his own. He can register the pounding of his heart, the shaking of his hands, but it feels too distant to be his own.

Knock.

This is the end, isn’t it? Was this what JD was planning all along? Just to sit back and watch Kurt’s relationships fall apart, and then kill him when he had no one left to notice he was gone? Why couldn’t his dad be home? Why couldn’t he have said yes to Veronica’s invitation to hang out after school? Why couldn’t Ram—fuck.

Why did he have to be alone right now?

Knock.

He knows Kurt’s in here, doesn’t he? That’s why he hasn’t stopped knocking yet. He’s not going away until someone opens that door.

Knock.

Kurt weighs the options. He can sit here and shake like a pussy—which all things considered is sounding better than it has any right to—or he can open the door. He glances down at the bat in his hands but disregards the thought immediately.

He wishes he could be more like Ram, that his first instinct could be to attack like it used to be—because he’d been a dick but at least he was a dick that could hold his own in a fight and not freeze up when it matters most goddammit—but the bat clatters out of his shaking hands and rolls out of his immediate grasp.

 _Knock, knock, knock_.

The knocking has turned to sharp, insistent rapping.

You only have so much time left, Kurt. Might as well get it over with. Only so much time left. Tick tock, tick tock. _Who would even miss you if you were gone?_

Kurt braces himself against the door as he turns around. He can feel his pulse up through his fingers, can watch them shake out of control as they attempt to wrap around the doorknob. Why is he doing this? Why is he doing this?

The doorknob turns, and the door opens.

JD looks to the side. “Have you seen my cat?”

Kurt takes embarrassingly long to respond. His jaw goes slack, no longer needing to be braced for the worst. “…What?”

“My cat.” JD clarifies. “She slipped out before the storm hit. I’m trying to find her.”

Kurt checks over JD, looking for any visible signs of a gun. He has to have a weapon on him somewhere. Maybe it’s not a gun, though? Maybe he’s just planning to beat Kurt to death with his fists.

Kurt swallows, trying to not think of the way the concept of _death_ brings a too real, too familiar cold chill up his spine. Is it welcome? Is it not? He can’t really feel enough to tell.

“I haven’t.” Kurt answers. The lie tumbles out of his mouth, stumbling more than once on the way out. But once it’s out in the open, there’s no way he can take it back, so he steels his face and hopes he doesn’t look too terrified.

The kitten pads into JD’s direct line of sight, chasing after the crumpled paper towel Kurt had eaten dinner off of.

JD leans to the side. “That’s my cat.” It’s not an accusation, just a statement of fact.

“Oh.” He can’t feel anything below his neck anymore. It’s like that one time he got tackled last year, when he’d hit his head so badly he had to take off school for a week. He’d passed out for a good minute, but that was enough to make Ram piggyback him to his car, and then around school for at least three days after he was well enough to return to classes.

JD takes a step forward, and something roars back to life in Kurt. It’s a clawing, desperate need to live and breathe and _fight_ , the kind that is only allowed to be in his head after all thoughts of Ram are eradicated. Adrenaline surges through his bones, reminding him that he’s breathing, he’s _alive_ , and he’ll claw and scream and fight and punch anything that tries to take him back.

“Stay out of my house!” Kurt screams, but even he can hear the edge of terror in his voice.

JD’s eyes widen, and he does step back, but he doesn’t look as scared as he should. Where’s the fear? The _intimidation?_ Why does he get to stand there and never once fear that his life, his experiences, his _everything_ are about to be taken away from him?

But no, JD just stands there, looking as bored as ever. “Kurt, I know you’re probably thinking that I’m planning another very elaborate murder scheme, but I’m too doped up on anger meds to even try. If you cut me, I’m sure I’d bleed Prozac. I just want my cat.”

Kurt has no idea why he says what he says next. “My cat now,” he responds, and moves to slam the door.

JD catches his foot in the doorway just in time. “Come on,” he mutters, but suddenly his voice is so far away.

He’s here. _He’s here and there’s no stopping him._ There’s no way to keep him out now. He’s right here and Kurt’s going to die and he’s gonna get a shitty tiny funeral and no one’s going to give enough of a shit to even remember to show up. He’s going to die alone but worse than that _he’s going to die he doesn’t want to leave yet he wants to live please I’ll promise to do better this time_

Something’s against his chest, pressing so hard that he has no choice but to take deep, deliberate breaths.

“Alright, calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Kurt opens his eyes.

JD rocks back on his heels. “There we go.”

_He’s in Kurt’s living room he’s in the house in the house in the house in the house_

“Hey.”

Kurt swallows back the terror that isn’t even there. His body is surprisingly steady. How can he be so calm? “Hi.” This can’t be real. This can’t be real _this can’t be fucking real._

JD scoots back. “So you might wanna get yourself a snack sometime soon?” he suggests. “Your blood sugar has to be really low if you can just pass out like that.”

Kurt furrows his brow. Now that he thinks about it, he’s barely eaten anything all day, and the realization brings a fresh, gnawing pain through his stomach. He hadn’t even eaten breakfast, and the most he could manage for dinner was a couple bites of a hamburger. “’Kay.”

“Yeah.” JD looks to the side again. Why’s he avoiding eye contact all of the sudden? He had no qualms about looking Kurt in the eye when he shot him. “I’m gonna get Lindsey and leave.”

“Lindsey?”

JD glances at him from under half-lidded eyes. His line of sight never goes above Kurt’s chest. “It was my mother’s name.”

JD approaches the kitten, but Lindsey only stares at him and walks off. She’s sure to keep a good distance from him, no matter how close he tries to get, but she’s always watching him curiously.

JD sighs, deciding to call it quits once she squeezes under the couch to explore. “She hates me.” He’s almost pouting.

Kurt sits up, running a hand through his hair. He can barely feel it. “Nah, man. Cat’s are just loners. You gotta give them their space.”

Kurt can still remember the fat tabby his mother loved so much. It liked to sit on the foot of his bed while he played, on the kitchen counter while he did homework. Always staring. It’s just how cats are. Maybe they should’ve gotten JD a puppy instead.

The thought of his mother, however saddening, helps to keep him calm. It pushes the thought of JD in his house out of his mind.

JD then sits on the floor, like he owns the place, like he’s _welcome here_. It stirs feelings in Kurt he couldn’t even hope to assess. He knows anger is in there, probably fear too, but it’s buried so far underneath numbness and apathy that he can’t even feel them right. Maybe he wants to hit something. Maybe he wants to curl up on the floor and cover his eyes until the rest of the world goes away. He wishes he had the slightest idea anymore.

But as JD moves closer, his response is decided for him. Aggression it is. “What makes you think you’re so fucking special?” Kurt snaps, blurting out the question that’s been on his mind since that night in the woods. “My mom died when I was eight, and you don’t see me faking other people’s suicides and making bombs! Just suck it up and accept that everyone’s gonna leave you!”

JD doesn’t blink. In fact, he doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest. “Projecting, are we?” Kurt’s never been to a therapist, but that’s a therapist voice if he’s ever heard one.

Kurt’s face burns. Why did he let that slip out of his mouth? The last thing he needs is Jason fucking Dean clued in to even more of his vulnerabilities. “Fuck off.”

“So that’s why I haven’t seen Thing 2…” JD muses. After a moment’s pause, he rests a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, ignoring the flinch. “And here I thought you two were glued together.”

The words drag a pulsing ache through Kurt’s abdomen. And now all he can think of is Ram, who used to always be around and used to always be willing to joke around with him. The guy who used to take him out on the anniversary of his mom’s death to drink shitty beer and tip cows until driving home was a perilous adventure. The guy who used to make him believe that things could be alright.

Something stings in his eye. Probably some dust or some shit.

Fuck.

“You can leave anytime now.” Kurt points out.

JD laughs, but the sound is hollow. “And here I thought you were terrified of me.”

Kurt glares from the corner of his eye. “What?”

“I hear things. And I’ve heard you’ve been having panic attacks almost every time you see me.”

That didn’t sound natural, not like how he’d expect JD to say that. But how did he expect JD to say that? Like he was gloating? He just stated it like it was fact, almost like he felt kind of guilty. Maybe that’s why it sounded so strange to his ears.

Still, Kurt refuses to dignify that with a response. “Yeah, well, I’m past the point of feeling feelings anymore, so you’re gonna have to do a lot worse than exist for me to freak out.”

JD hums in thought. He still doesn’t get up to leave. “Lindsey wants to stay, and I’m not going to make her leave,” he concludes. “You gotta give cats their space, right?”

There was a teasing tone in his voice, almost like he’s reveling in using Kurt’s words against him. And yeah, he probably is, but why does it also sound like he wants to stay? That’s weird. JD’s weird.

Kurt jumps to his feet, ducking into the kitchen to grab the nearest bit of food in reach. Thank God he’d just left his leftovers on the counter. He hastily breaks off a piece of hamburger and kneels in front of the TV, where Lindsey is now exploring.

At the prospect of food, Lindsey trots over, allowing Kurt to scoop her up in one hand and hand her over to JD.

JD’s eyes light up as he cradles her against his chest. It’s freaky to see so much unbridled joy on his face. He looks way happier than he has any right to be. This has to be his first time holding her.

Kurt can’t help staring. Yeah, JD’s a complete and total psycho, but he’s also just an idiot who needs more attention from his cat. Suddenly he doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as Kurt made him up to be in his head. Take away the weapons and all he can be is quirky and annoying. He almost can’t believe this is the same guy who hunted him in the cemetery muttering about dinosaurs, the same guy who poisoned Heather Chandler and took away her voice.

JD clears his throat, catching Kurt’s attention. He’s back to staring at the floor. “Thank you, Kurt.”

Is he… embarrassed? Ashamed? Why? There’s no way he could feel bad for the things he’s done, can he? That’s what Kurt thought, but now he’s not so sure…

All he can conclude is that JD’s weird.

Kurt nods. “Just get out of my house.”

And just like that, his embarrassment is gone. JD rises to his feet, Linsey nuzzled against his chest. “At least give me a kiss before I go.” The teasing tone is back in his voice, and it makes Kurt’s body go rigid with disgust.

Is this his new game now? Tease Kurt for being a fag? Because he’s a little late to the party. Kurt’s heard so much worse at this point.

It’s so stupid that Kurt’s instinctive response is sass. “Over my dead fucking body—and don’t take that literally.”

JD snorts. “Come on, we both know which team you’re really playing for, Kurt.”

Kurt glares. Is that what JD’s getting at? Mocking him? Was the whole guilt thing just an act so he could make as many dumb jokes and potshots as he wanted? Is that what he wants? To revel in how right he is, that Kurt became just what society wanted him to become or some shit?

JD shrugs. “Something’s gotta give me the smallest iota of joy, and everything else I do is illegal. Did you know your ears go pink when you’re embarrassed?”

Kurt scowls, and JD chuckles as he sees himself out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey i'm sorry i died but here's some gay shit

Kurt feels stranded.

The Heathers are still missing in action, and now Veronica’s gone too. From what Kurt can piece together from the gossip, she’d been so hysterical about the thought of going to school that they decided to take her to a therapist. He hasn’t seen Martha either. He can only assume she’s with Veronica.

Kurt’s chest threatens to cave in when he makes eye contact with Ram and Ram’s eyes glide over him like he isn’t even there. Now all that’s left is the two of them—well, discounting JD. But he’d give anything to not have to think about that.

“Hey, Kurt.”

Kurt nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of a voice behind him. Martha offers him a slight smile.

“Martha.” He can’t begin to describe how relieved he is that she’s here. “I didn’t think … you know, with Veronica…” He trails off, unable to put his thoughts into words. How can he even say he’s happy to see her even though Veronica’s having a massive breakdown without sounding like an asshole?

“She’s resting.” Martha answers. Her lips are pressed in a thin line. She says no more than that, and Kurt thinks he prefers it that way. “How are you doing?”

Does she really care that much when there are a million other crises going on? And how does he even tell her JD barged into his house last night and they bonded over cats and dead moms? The more time goes on, the less he believes it actually happened and was instead a product of him drinking himself numb to the point where his dreams got really freaky and stupid.

“I’m fine,” he says after a pause, which to Martha, is neon flashing sign proclaiming the words “I’m not fine.”

She frowns, and he knows he’s busted.

“If there’s something you need to talk about…”

Kurt shakes his head before she can finish the sentence. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

She casts one last glance over his shoulder, and from the way her face twists in sympathy, it’s clear that she’s also caught Ram’s eye.

 _Please don’t make him talk about it please don’t make him talk about it please don’t_ —

“Let’s get to class, then.” Martha takes a step in the opposite direction, away from Ram, away from the jocks, and he gladly follows.

He’s still not sure where he stands with them, how they’d treat him now that Ram’s turned his back on him and he still hasn’t rejoined the football team.

Something hits him in the back of his head, big enough to cause an immediate burst of pain.

So that’s where they’re at, then.

Kurt pulls to a stop, waiting for the onslaught of jeers to be thrown at his back, but nothing more than the normal hustle of a passing period follows. Was that their plan? To just throw something at him and run? Weak, even from those cowardly assholes.

“Kurt?” Martha’s eyeing him worriedly. “You okay?”

Did she not see the dozen or so idiot jocks behind him? Fearing the worst, Kurt turns, only to find a shocking absence of douche canoes in letterman jackets.

He touches a hand to the back of his head, ignoring the dull ache forming there. They really were weak if this was how they were choosing to pick on him. Or maybe at this point he was just too pathetic to go balls-out on. Who knows.

Martha hones in on the baseball-sized projectile that had been launched at him. He grimaces, realizing that she’s probably had enough junk launched at her for her to piece together what happened so easily.

“It’s a muffin?” She holds it out for Kurt to take.

A muffin wrapped up in paper, he notes. He takes it and carefully peels away the paper, revealing a single crumpled note.

_EAT._

How eloquent.

Okay, so definitely not the football douches. Kurt clearly—well, not clearly but whatever—remembers getting a concussion last year, and no one even informed the coach because they didn’t want him to be distracted. They wouldn’t give a damn if he ate enough, and he would’ve heard them giving Ram shit about it if he’d done so.

A twinge of mania strikes his throat, almost bubbling up in a laugh. Because why would Ram bother? He was “done.” Kurt would honestly be surprised if the dude even looked at him again, and that’s not even the melodramatic teenage angst talking.

So who else is left? The only person that remotely gives a shit about him that’s still at school is Martha, and she’s standing right next to him. Besides, her arm isn’t that strong.

JD peers at him from around the corner. When he notices Kurt’s finally seen him, he offers an awkward thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd.

“Kurt?” Martha places a hand on her shoulder, as if to steady him.

Kurt feels his heart clench. She still thinks JD terrifies him. He probably should be, but JD is such a fucking dork, he’s come to realize.

“It’s fine,” he mutters. The fogginess is back, the one that doesn’t let him think as clearly as he wants to. He looks down at the muffin in his hands. “Free food.”

“Did JD actually just give that to you?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long pause between them, one that Kurt can’t quite place. Then again, he’s sure Martha’s confused out of her gourd. After all, JD had just assaulted him with a pastry and afterward given the single most awkward gesture Kurt could ever imagine such an edgy-looking trench coat-wearing fuck giving. He doesn’t even know how to react to that, and he has last night as context. Martha had to feel so much more lost.

“That’s nice of him.”

Of course Martha would say that. She’s the kind of person that sees the best in everyone, no matter how terrible they are. After all, she’d forgiven him. Why not JD as well?

“Yeah.” And he did skip breakfast. It would probably be best to eat something. He can already feel himself getting light-headed.

He takes a single bite before rewrapping the muffin and putting it in his backpack. Ms. Fleming is usually really cool about snacks in class, spouting bullshit about how it helps children focus and makes the class environment seem less oppressive. All he knows is that there’s this one nerd that brings an entire breakfast tray into class almost every morning because he always forgets to eat in the mornings, and Kurt’s ready to stoop down to his level. As much as he wants to eat, his stomach doesn’t allow him to do much more than pick at his food.

It’s easy to keep his mind off Ram, at least for first period. It’s the one class they don’t have together, so Kurt doesn’t have to stare at the back of his head and think about what a fucking shitshow his life has become. Instead, he can nibble at his muffin and waste an entire class period wondering if it was from the 7/11 and why the fuck 7/11 would even sell muffins in the first place.

It wasn’t a terrible way to waste first period. He’d had dumber trains of thought than 7/11’s business model and more obvious ways of not paying attention than staring at Ms. Flemings terrible frizzy hairdo.

Second period is going to be the real kicker, though. Ram’s going to be there, and he’s going to continue being there for the rest of the day. The real question is does he hide or tough it out? He’s sure no one will fault him for hiding in the Heather Hangout for the rest of the day, but being alone sounds worse than being around Ram. Because, no, he doesn’t wanna drag Martha out of her classes right now. She probably needs the distraction of schoolwork about now.

A shoulder clips his, so harshly that he stumbles.

With a scowl, Kurt spins, only for every curse to die on his tongue when it’s Ram glaring back at him. With a small shake of his head, Ram disregards him completely and saunters into his next class.

Kurt ducks his head and rushes to his locker. The fogginess in his head ramps up full-force, closing him off from the rest of the world until he can only hear the pounding of his heart.

So this was what they were doing now, huh? They’d gone from completely ignoring each other to getting petty blows in when they could? What had even set this off? Was it because Kurt had shown a single flash of being something other than completely miserable for more than five seconds? Was that not allowed? And why did Ram even care about how miserable he was? For someone that was “done,” Ram sure stuck his nose into shit that was none of his business a lot.

Because there was no way that was an accident. There was a sense of deliberateness in Ram’s actions he couldn’t defend. So now Ram was fully blaming Kurt for everything and reacting accordingly.

That clinches it. He can’t take it. Not now. Not with Ram. He marches his way to the opposite side of school and flings open the door to the Heather Hangout.

It’s the worst thing he’s seen today.

The air is musty from the days of neglect. Half-melted candles sit unlit on the small side table, producing just enough artificial aroma to make the room confining. It’s clear no one’s been in here since Heather Chandler first stopped coming to school. A plate of half-eaten, stale chocolate-covered strawberries sit rotting in a box against the far wall.

It sucks, but it’s all he has. He collapses onto the giant cushion, trying not to think about everything he had that was remotely nice is currently falling apart at the seams. It’s hard not to. The environment is only making him feel more anxious. He’s sure he’ll throw up if he stays here much longer.

How is he going to handle the rest of the school year now? Without the Heathers, without Veronica, without Martha, he’s completely defenseless. The way Ram had glared at him had made his blood run cold. He still couldn’t get that moment out of his head. There was no way he’d be able to take that multiple times a day, every day, until he graduated. Kurt dug his fingernails into his arms, trying to stave of the slew of terrible thoughts that followed.

“Knock, knock.”

The door slides open, providing a sliver of light from the hallway. Everything else is blocked out by a familiar, imposing shadow. Kurt can only stare up at him as JD lets himself inside.

“Here.” JD begins to reach into the inside of his trench coat, but stops cold when Kurt violently flinches back.

Kurt springs into a crouching position. He tries to ignore the way his sneakers scrape against the cushions, how any one of the Heathers would chew his ass out for scuffing up the nice pillows and blankets, because that doesn’t matter. Who knows if they’re ever coming back? And it won’t matter if no one saw him come in here and JD—

JD cuts off his train of thought almost instantly. “Calm down. There’s no way I could have a weapon.” He takes his hands out of his pockets and raises them high, showing clearly he has nothing. “I’m not even allowed to use regular scissors.”

“Then why are you reaching into your coat?”

“It’s my cat.” That’s when Kurt finally takes notice of the quiet meowing.

“Why do you have Lindsey in your trench coat?”

“Because she’s not allowed to be at school, obviously.” JD opens his jacket, and Lindsey pops her head out of the inner pocket, mewling loudly. “Do you want to pet her or don’t you?”

Kurt sinks back against the dusty cushions. As if this day couldn’t get any more confusion. “Sure, whatever.”

JD scoops Lindsey out of his pocket and places her directly into Kurt’s lap. “So this is the coveted Heather Hangout, is it? Can’t say I’m terribly impressed.”

“It’s better when people are actually here to hang out in it.” Kurt mutters. He wishes Martha could be here right now. Someone, anyone, to moderate the tension between them. He hates the way JD looks at him, like everything about him is just so easy to figure out.

“So I’m just gonna say what we’re both thinking and point out that Ram’s a gigantic dick.”

“That’s the only time ‘Ram’ and ‘gigantic dick’ ever fit into the same sentence.” Kurt grumbles. Lindsey claws her way up to his chest, completely ignoring the hands he’s offering her for leverage. He tries not to jerk away at the pain.

He still doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but making tiny dick jokes at Ram’s expense can at least bring him back to a time where he still had the Heathers and Veronica offering him support.

Whether he heard or not, JD chooses not to comment. “Did you know you zone out when you’re making goo-goo eyes at Ram?”

“What?”

“You make eye contact with him, and then you zone out, just staring at him and looking like the personification of a Sylvia Plath poem.”

Kurt scowls. “The what of a who?” That’s another thing he hates about JD. Talking to him always makes Kurt feel like the dumbest motherfucker on earth.

JD shakes his head and turns his head away. “Never mind. Just pet the cat.”

Lindsey accepts his petting for a few moments before she’s off to investigate the rest of the tiny room. Kurt can’t blame her. He’s sure that the last fifty minutes she’d spent in a trench coat weren’t exactly fun for her. He makes sure the half-rotted food is up and out of reach before she can get to it.

He watches Lindsey explore, going out of his way to avoid JD’s stare. It’s burning into the side of his head, searing through his eyeballs, but he tries his best to pretend like everything is absolutely fine.

JD speaks anyway. “You know you can’t expect someone like him to understand.”

Kurt dares glancing up from Lindsey, who has buried herself in a sea of tiny pillows, to find JD dead serious. He stops breathing at the memory of those eyes, staring him down in the graveyard.

“He’s too dumb to feel anything but content, and yet he questions when others don’t feel the same.”

Ram. He’s talking about Ram. Fuck. And is this a pep talk? Kurt’s head spins, until the tombstones around him fade into his periphery.

“His response of anger is almost instinctual to things deviating from his expectations. To inconveniences. Despite his best attempts to hide it, your anxiety, your trauma, the things in your brain that you can’t change, are _inconveniences_.”

“For what?” It seems like the simplest question to ask. Out of everything—Ram’s anger, his anxiety, _that fight_ —it seems like the easiest thing to focus on without making the air seem harder to breathe than it already is.

“Sex. Intimacy. Your attention. Probably all of the above. That’s what’s so terrible about him. He couldn’t even begin to understand what someone like you is going through.” JD concludes his speech with a shrug. “Basically, this is all just some petty temper tantrum because he can’t get laid. It’s his dumb way of making things all about him, and I’d hate to see you get all Virginia Woolf over him.”

“Okay, now you’re just making up names.”

JD cracks a smile, which is relieving given the way he was scowling not a moment before. “I’ll admit I’ve never read her poetry, but I can assure you she’s real.” After a beat of unproductive silence, JD gets to his feet. “Well, all I came here to do was shit-talk Ram with overblown therapy speak, so I guess I’ll be going now.”

He plucks Lindsey out of her mound of pillows she was still exploring. She yawns widely and goes into his pocket without a fuss.

Kurt sucks in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of anxiety. He’s sure it’s because he doesn’t want to be alone, not because of who’s leaving. If anything, he should be glad JD’s on his way out. Then again… He grimaces, realizing he does feel a tad better after JD’s words of reassurances. He knows then that he can’t just let JD leave.

“Hey.” JD turns. “Thanks for the muffin.”

Kurt gave him an awkward thumbs-up, and for a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw JD grin.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did 7/11 have all these foods in 1989? i don't fucking know but what i do know about 7/11 all came from articles about how 7/11 food sucks

The clouds overhead swirl dangerously, painted in dark shades of gray. They create a thick blanket over the sky, snuffing out the last shreds of already fading daylight.

Kurt winces. He really hopes it doesn’t start to rain. Not when he has to walk all the way back home. His calves are already starting to cramp, but since he had to walk home alone and is now walking halfway across town not a few hours later, he can’t really blame himself. Never mind that he used to cross distances like this in his sleep.

Okay, maybe he was starting to get a little out of shape. He should probably start running again, at least. Anything to keep him from spending his evenings holed up in his house and left with his own thoughts. Paul was hardly around lately, and even when he was, it was clear he was distracted. Kurt could only imagine the bullshit going on between him and Bill.

Kurt pauses. What has Ram even told his dad, if anything? What does Bill think of all this? Does he see any issue with Ram’s behavior, or does he even care? Is this all stupid teenage bullshit to him? That’s probably how Kurt would feel if he wasn’t smack dab in the middle of all of this, but he supposes it doesn’t matter.

His only concern right now is that he’s hungry and there’s no more food left in the house. Worse yet, he only has a handful of dollar bills and no cars. So he’s stuck walking into 7/11 like a fucking loser. Nevermind the fact that this is where he’s getting his dinner. The walking part is what really does him in.

A bell rings as he pushes the door open. He squints at the burning light and frowns. This place is so overstimulating and crappy. Plus, it kinda smells like someone died in here.

Kurt surveys the food. There’s regular pre-packaged stuff, but he knows eating that kind of crap will only make him feeling more hungry. He wanders over to the food being held under a barely-working heat lamp. The smell of maybe-death slowly becomes overtaken with the smell of food he knows will kill him, but before he can scoop up a burrito, a voice stops him.

“Kurt Kelly, as I live and breathe. What are you doing here?”

Kurt turns to look over his shoulder. JD’s half-leaning on the end of the chip aisle, smirking. So the awkward fucker wasn’t going to chuck pastries at him and run away this time? “Following your advice.”

“I said ‘eat,’ not ‘kill yourself via sodium intake.’” The dumb smirk still on his face, JD pauses to take a sip of his Slurpee.

Kurt narrows his eyes. “You’re drinking liquid cocaine, fuck off.” He reaches for a burrito.

JD catches his hand before he can, though. His skin is like ice. “Not the burritos. Or the wraps. You know what, just let me buy you a slice of pizza.”

Kurt bristles. “I have money, dude.”

JD waves him off. “I guarantee you that I have more. Now shut up and let me do you a favor.”

Kurt glances outside. By the looks of the sky, it’s definitely going to rain soon. He should be heading home. So is it bad that he wants to stay? Regardless of the company, it’s someone he can talk to. And anything is better than being left alone with his thoughts.

It feels like only a second later that a Slurpee and an overly greasy slice of pizza are being pushed into his hands. JD strides past him and nods to a spot on the curb. Kurt has no choice but to follow.

“So what lovely circumstances have lead you to this fine dining establishment this evening?” JD asks.

Kurt shrugs. “I have four dollars and I want to eat.”

That sparks JD’s interest. He sits up a little straighter. “Where’s your dad?”

Kurt shrugs again. “Working? Fishing? I don’t know anymore. Barely see him.” He turns his head away, deliberately taking a sip of his Slurpee, and grimaces at the pure amount of sugar that floods his mouth.

“Bastard.” JD mutters, and the anger in his voice sends a jolt of ice up Kurt’s spine. “So you’re gonna be alone for break, then?”

“Probably.”

“Me, too.”

“Where are you living anyway?”

JD grins. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say.” No matter how much people gossiped, the one truth that could never be uncovered was JD’s new living situation. There were a dozen different rumors, but nothing concrete. It was probably the secret JD was holding closest to his chest.

“With my aunt. Mom’s side. Super rich. Hates my dad.” His eyes grow a little more distant. “She rushed down here without a second thought. I don’t know why, but she did. Right now, she’s trying to get legal custody of me so I can move in with her until I turn eighteen. Not that hard considering where Dear Old Dad went.”

“Where?”

JD barks out a laugh. “You tell me! Left without a word while I was still hospitalized. He left half-full beer on the kitchen table, if that tells you how much of a goddamn rush he was in.”

“I’m sorry.”

JD glances over to see what a total loss of what to do Kurt is at and hastily takes a sip of his Slurpee. “So yeah I’m living with my aunt now and she’s pretty cool. She’s been covering all my therapy and medication, so you have her to thank for the hot mess you see before you.”

“But she’s not around either?” Kurt sets the Slurpee aside and starts eating the pizza instead. It tastes like cardboard, but it’s piping hot, so he won’t complain.

“She tries, but her work is crazy.”

“What does she do?”

“I don’t really know, and frankly, I don’t really wanna know. All I know is that she makes a lot of money and sometimes people call her going berserk about wanting to talk to their dead father.”

“Oh.” Kurt finishes off the last of his pizza while staring at the ground. Is everyone in JD’s family thirty-seven shades of crazy?

“So she gives me nearly a hundred dollars a week to do whatever, so it’s okay.”

“And you choose to hang out in a 7/11 parking lot?” Kurt glances around, looking for some secret detail he missed that would make this a cool place.

“It’s mostly out of habit at this point. Besides, where else would I go in this town?”

“There’s a library.”

JD grins, the kind of smirk that makes Kurt scared because he knows he’s going to get roasted in the next ten seconds. “I’m surprised you know those exist.”

“Listen, I am about five seconds from crossing ‘beating the shit out of someone in a 7/11 parking lot’ off my bucket list.”

JD laughs out loud at that one. It’s almost jarring to see him with an actual smile on his face. It doesn’t fade, even as he turns his eyes up toward the sky. “You should get home soon. It’s about to rain.”

Kurt glances up. That’s an understatement. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if it started raining right now. If he were to start moving now, he could probably be home within fifteen minutes. And if it does start raining on him, he could always use his jacket as cover.

On the flip side, if he doesn’t get moving now, he probably won’t until the rain ends, because the last thing he ever wants to do when he’s dry is go out into the rain. Or at least that’s the excuse he tells himself.

“It’s whatever. I’m fine where I am.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did someone order some GAY SHIT???

He’s supposed to feel angry.

Ram knows this as he watches the pair of the century walk into school that morning, like they’re the best fucking friends in the world and nothing’s ever been wrong between them.

Kurt and JD spend the time before the first bell smoking out front and talking, like they don’t notice the students behind them, pressing against the windows to get a better look at the spectacle. Ram tries to look like he doesn’t care.

“Fuck you, dude!” Kurt shoves at JD’s shoulder while JD chuckles. Ram tries to act like he isn’t edging closer so he can pick up on what they’re saying.

But he can’t get close enough. Not without drawing suspicion from both the students inside and from Kurt. So he watches, trying to tell himself that he doesn’t care. He’s done with Kurt. It shouldn’t matter.

The two of them pass the next five minutes chatting. Occasionally, one of them will laugh, but neither of them laugh at the same thing. It’s weird. They’re weird.

After a minute or so, Ram decides he can’t take it anymore and storms off toward the lockers. He zeroes in on Lisa. She’s all about politics and all that other dumb shit, so she has to know something about what’s going on over there.

“What do you know?” he demands.

She stares at him, annoyance flickering in her eyes. The way she squints at him makes the bags under her eyes more prevalent. Ram distantly notes there’s a history test today. “Good morning.”

“Shut up or I’ll tell the entire football team you were so desperate for dick you tried to get me drunk.” Her eyes widen at the totally false accusation, probably thinking of what would happen to her reputation. Ram then repeats himself, “Tell me what you know.”

“Kurt and JD are probably fucking,” Lisa begins. “Not that I’ve caught one of them getting dicked down by the other. I’m just saying that almost every day since Wednesday two have disappeared into the Heathers old hangout room for at least an hour at a time. And you know how soft those pillows are.”

Ram nods. “Those pillows are too comfy _not_ to get dicked down on. What else?”

“I hear JD’s got quite the coin these days. Word on the street is that he’s going somewhere nice for break. Might bring a plus one.”

Something boils in his chest, which he pushes down by clenching his fists. “More.”

“He also smuggles a cat into school every day. He keeps it in his trench coat.”

Ram rolls his eyes. “Something useful!”

She straightens up, her glare almost deadly. “Well, Kurt’s new boyfriend is a lot better than the last one. He might have had plans to blow up the school, but at least this one knows how to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’” She takes the last book from her locker and slams the locker shut.

“You need to get your priorities straight!” Ram shouts at her back.

She flips him the bird over her shoulder, which he gladly returns even though there’s no way she could even see it.

He half-considers following her just to yell at her, when an irritatingly familiar voice jolts him from his thoughts.

“My therapist told me write apology letters.”

Ram goes still. JD’s seeing a therapist? Good, seeing as the kid is an absolute fucking psycho. He drifts past them, following the crowd, but keeps his ears trained on the conversation. He hides around the corner, stealing glances at the two of them and ignoring the stares he’s getting.

JD’s holding an envelope. “It’s lame, but just take it.”

Kurt quirks his mouth, confused, but not averse to the idea. It’s the expression he usually gets when he’s weighing his options, like when Ram says they should go out cow-tipping while they’re both half-drunk.

“Okay.” He accepts it but doesn’t read it. Instead, he slips it into his backpack. “I’ll look at it later.”

JD folds his arms and leans back. “That’s fine. I know the big words are hard and you move your lips when you read.” Before Kurt can respond, he’s handing over a second envelope. “You can give this one to Ram. Or don’t. I don’t care. You can read it. It’s whatever.”

Ram frowns. Why would he be getting one of JD’s stupid letters? Something loosens in his chest. Maybe there isn’t something between them. Maybe they aren’t fucking. It’s probably something JD is doing for everyone, but Kurt’s the only one giving him the time of day. If only he knew what was in that letter he gave Kurt…

Kurt’s eyes stray up to JD, assessing him. “I’ll just give it to him later.”

JD cocks an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“I mean, last time you two talked, he decked you in the face.”

“And last time you two talked, he decked you in the soul.”

Kurt snorts. “In the soul? Really? That’s what crying into your dumb poetry gets you to come up with?”

“Fuck you, Kurt. Now give me the letter back and let me give it to him.” JD holds out a demanding hand, but Kurt ignores him.

“Consider it a favor since you’re buying dinner.”

_He’s buying Kurt dinner?_

“Not one for repaying debts with kisses, then?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Not when all I’m getting is 7/11 pizza.”

JD grins and bats him on the shoulder. Ram’s chest goes impossibly tight at the gesture, like a sacred line has just been crossed. “Look at you, with a semi-witty response. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

“Fuck you, asshole. See you at lunch.”

“Later.”

Once JD is around the corner and out of sight, Ram quickens his pace. The letters are still protruding from Kurt’s half-open backpack, so it’s not that hard to take the one with Kurt’s name on it without him even noticing.

His heart racing, he goes into the nearest bathroom. It can’t be true. They can’t be fucking. They can’t be _friends_.

He peels back the paper, glad the envelope isn’t sealed. It’ll make it that much easier to look like someone hadn’t gotten into it this way.

The first few lines have been violently scribbled out in black pen.

_~~Hey, sorry I shot you and tried to make your death look like a gay suicide. That was wrong of me and I am sorry.~~ _ ~~~~

_Kurt,_

_I’m sorry you lost your mom. I have a hard time relating to others, but I know firsthand how hard that is. And I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry I gave you an anxiety disorder. I wish there was something I could do to fix it, but there isn’t and all I’m left with is an “I’m sorry.”_

_But most of all, I’m sorry that I tried to murder you. That sounds like the weakest apology I could muster, but apparently it’s bad to dwell on the past. I wanted to fix the world but all I ended up doing was making it worse. No one deserves to die, and even if they do, it’s not my place to decide. I’m sorry for making you think you did._

_My therapist tells me I have a lot of unexpressed aggression towards my father, and by association, hyper-masculinity. It made me more vindictive towards you and Ram than what was justified, and I’m sorry. I’m trying my best to recognize these feelings, but it’s hard and sometimes I make mistakes. The fact that you’ve found it in your heart to forgive me means more than you could imagine. I’m grateful to have someone like you around._

_—JD, who’s very glad his aim sucks_

Ram’s hands are shaking so badly that he can barely keep a grip on the letter, so he lets it fall to his feet. When his hands are free, he pounds the stall wall so hard that the guy beside him lets out a noise so high-pitched that most old people probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

It finally hits him how pissed he’s supposed to be. Why would Kurt allow this to happen? This dude tried to _kill him_ , for Chrissakes. He’s the reason that Kurt has nightmares, and that he jumps at loud sounds. Why would Kurt even consider hanging out with this fucking freak?

How could he even believe this shit? This asshole _shot him_ and now “sorry” is supposed to fix everything? Not only that, but from what Ram heard, all JD does is insult Kurt whenever they have a conversation. Kurt deserves better than that!

Kurt deserves…

Ram shakes his head, as if he can shake away the thought. No, he doesn’t want that. He said he was done, and he meant it. Kurt can’t just reel him back in with his puppy dog eyes and his cute laugh and the dumb way his ass looks great in any pair of jeans.

Ram leans against the wall, allowing him to sink a couple inches. Fuck this. Fuck everything. He shows up to his first hour class late and returns the letter come second hour.

The next few classes are a blur, and he tries not to notice how Kurt is absent from their study hall. He forces his body to shut down, so he doesn’t show how made he’s supposed to be.

“Ram?”

Ram jolts out of his haze to see Kurt standing by his locker.

Christ, Kurt looks more uncomfortable with this than Ram does. “I, uh, have a letter for you. It’s from JD.”

His clothes are rumpled. His clothes are rumpled and he just spend the last entire class period alone with JD in a private area. At this point, it’s almost like there’s nothing else it could be.

But when Kurt fishes the letter out of his backpack, when he twists and the fabric of his shirt pulls _just right_ at his body so Ram gets to see the curve of his muscled chest and slightest hint of a tummy, Ram allows himself to dream.

There’s hope. There’s this tiny, shining little sliver of hope. Maybe JD waxes poetic in all of his letters. Maybe those words mean nothing because he said the exact same thing to Ram. Maybe there’s a chance.

He rips it open with Kurt still standing in front of him.

_Ram,_

_I’m sorry that you’re a massive fucking cunt._

— _JD_

_P.S. Kurt’s too good for you anyway._

Ram glares, and suddenly every eye in the hallway is on him. “Are you fucking serious?” he growls.

Kurt cringes. Maybe he has no idea what the letter says. Maybe he’s just that scared of owning up to fucking JD. Ram doesn’t care. He’s supposed to be furious.

“Babe, there you are!” JD slides directly in between the two of them, creating a barrier between them. “I’ve been looking all over!”

Kurt looks genuinely confused at that. “But—”

“Aww, you know I can’t stay mad at you!” JD then grabs Kurt by the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.

The world goes silent, at least for Ram.

He tries his damnedest to ignore the spectacle going on right in front of him. He ignores the way that Kurt visibly _melts_ into the kiss. His knees go weak, his eyes slip shut—the whole slutty shebang. He ignores the way the two of them hold the kiss for ten, fifteen, twenty seconds. And he most definitely ignores the way that Kurt is too stunned to even form words after the fact.

He’s so busy ignoring them that they’re gone before he can blink.

Conversation slowly starts back up around him, and he can feel everyone continuing to watch him. He can’t hear a thing over the pounding of his heart.

He’s supposed to be mad, but he’s the furthest thing from mad.

No, he’s _terrified_.

He used to say he wasn’t scared of JD, but that was when JD couldn’t do anything to him. That was when JD was in police custody and raving about bombs. Now JD has Ram’s ex-boyfriend in the palm of his hand and the freedom to harm Kurt however he’d like, and Kurt’s too stupid to even realize it.

He climbs into his truck and leaves school, determined to not come back until after break. No one tries to stop him as he leaves.

How can Kurt just face down the person that traumatized him and _kiss him_? What kind of crazy brain defect does he have for him to even remotely think that’s okay? JD probably doesn’t even like him; he’s probably just doing it to see what kind of damage he can do.

Ram’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses the house he’s looking for. The resulting sharp turn almost takes out the Chandler’s mailbox. Or maybe it does. He kind of has tunnel vision right now.

Ram pounds on the front door until someone answers him.

Yellow Heather glares at him. “What do you want, Ram?”

Ram looks over her shoulder. The other two are on the couch, watching some movie. Perfect. He didn’t think he could find Veronica with them, but he’s sure they’ll tell her soon enough.

“There’s something I need to tell you guys about Kurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i accidentally wrote jd's and kurt's interactions to be too endearing and now i ship it ;-;


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mostly just sad bonus backstory on jd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to do research on aura reading for this chapter

“Why did you _do_ that?” Kurt demands.

The words are out of his mouth before the two of them are out of the school, despite them nearly sprinting there. They can’t afford anything less. From the brief glimpse Kurt got of Ram’s eyes, JD would be dead before study hall.

“He was about to yell at you.”

“So you make him _angrier_?” Kurt had seen this kind of angry from Ram before. He’d yell and throw something and get it out of his system in a few hours’ time. But after that kiss? Kurt touches his fingers to his lips and shakes his head.

“I mean, it was funnier.”

“You’re going to get us both killed.”

“And what a way to go, don’t you think? Now, how would you like to spend the next few hours? We could cause trouble for the establishment and see an R-rated movie.”

“How is that causing trouble?”

“Because our impressionable young minds might hear swear words for the first time.” JD takes a sudden left turn. “Hang on. I have to get my wallet from home.”

Kurt doesn’t know what he’s expecting from JD’s house. It’s not run down, but it’s not Heather Chandler’s mansion, either. He can tell they’re working hard to scrub JD’s dad from the house. He does his part and chucks a beer can left abandoned in the lawn into the neighbor’s yard before following JD inside.

The atmosphere punches him right in the chest. He hears water running from the other room, barely covering the sound of a woman humming to herself. It feels dangerously like home.

“Jason? Is that you?” A woman barely in her thirties rounds the corner. Her fair hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and a dishcloth hangs over her shoulder.

“Aunt Dawn.” JD goes tense. Had he not heard her when they walked in? “You’re home.”

“It’s my day off,” she answers slowly. She scrutinizes his face. “You’re not skipping school, are you?”

“Well, you don’t like it when I lie, so…” He chuckles, which is such a JD thing to do, but it sounds so unlike JD that Kurt almost does a double take.

Dawn sighs. “Jason Dean.”

“It was important. My friend was about to have a panic attack.” He stumbles over the word friend, and he makes brief eye contact with Kurt. A thousand questions fly through Kurt’s mind. Are they friends? Are they not? What are they to one another?

Dawn looks to Kurt, something glimmering in her eyes. In an instant, her parental disapproval melts into something warmer. She smiles, and Kurt instantly tries not to think of his mother. “Oh, I just love the look of your aura. Totally chill.”

Kurt frowns. “What?”

“Your _aura_ ,” she repeats. She steps closer. Behind her, JD reaches for her arm, trying to stop her. Kurt doesn’t realize why until their faces are only inches apart. “It’s gold in some places, but fades into brown in others.” She takes his hands in hers. The cold metal of her rings presses against the backs of his hands. The smell of lavender rolls off her in waves. “With little flecks of black in between,” she notes, a little more sadly.

Kurt, not knowing what the fuck any of that means, nods. “…Right.”

“Aunt Dawn, can you please go back to scolding me instead of reading Kurt’s aura?” While JD really looks like he’d rather try to take his weird aunt away from Kurt, he hangs back. “It would make things less weird.”

Dawn looks back at him, no doubt picking up on the anxious vibes he’s putting out. Not that he’s making any steps to hide them, especially as he’s brazenly backing away from her. “Of course. I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s a little hard to turn off at times.”

“Yeah.” Kurt edges around her. The last thing he wants is to be stuck in this household, but he’ll take being around JD instead of his crazy aunt. He never thought he’d see the day where he met someone that made JD look sane.

“Your mom is beautiful, by the way,” she says, a phrase which brings him to a grinding halt. “You have her eyes.”

Kurt shoots a fearful look over his shoulder at a woman who’s gone from weird to terrifying in two sentences. How did she know that?

“Aunt Dawn.” JD says. His voice is hard to place, somewhere between a growl and a groan, between frustration and desperation. He locks his hand around Kurt’s bicep, too tight for comfort, and leads him down the hallway.

He doesn’t know what he’d expect from JD’s room, either. Like, more so than the house as a whole. Honestly, somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d been picturing JD slipping into a colorless void to pass out. But no, it looks like any normal teenager’s room.

There were posters of bands on the wall, a couple CDs on the floor, and a pile of dirty laundry shoved into the corner. Things out of the ordinary are few and far between.

There’s a calendar on the wall, marked up with different colors of Sharpie. Without looking like he’s totally snooping, Kurt manages to steal enough glances to see that it’s JD’s medication schedules. One of these everyday, two of those every other day, this once a week.

“I just gotta get a couple things and then we can leave.” JD says, going over to his dresser.

The top of his dresser is bare, save for a wallet, some pocket change, and what appears to be a family photo from when JD was young. A third of the photo has been cut out, so all that’s left is a kind-faced blonde woman and a beaming five-year-old JD.

Kurt shoves his hands in his pockets and mindlessly glances around the room. There are a couple things he hadn’t noticed before. A vase with lavender plants by the nightstand. A box of Band-Aids on the bed. “Can your aunt actually, like, see people?”

JD doesn’t look up from his wallet. If Kurt didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought JD was purposely turning his back on Kurt. “She does have eyes, Kurt.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “You know what I meant, dickface.”

JD shrugs. “Stupid questions get stupid answers. She’s just a secretary that draws in the right kind of crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean her second job involves reading auras and talking to the dead. Personally, I think she’s still a little burnt out from Woodstock, but who am I to complain? After all, she’s the sanest person in the family.” Lindsey claws her way out of JD’s pocket to patrol the room.

Kurt watches her trot by. “So I’ve noticed.”

JD snorts, but it’s clear he doesn’t have his heart back in it yet. “So 7/11 parking lot?”

“7/11 parking lot.”

 

“Why the fuck did you even pull that kissing bullshit?” Kurt asks, mostly to his Big Gulp since he’s having so much trouble looking JD in the eye after asking that. He moves his hand up to touch his lips again, but at the last second settles for pressing his lips together instead.

“I was just fucking with him. It didn’t mean anything.” JD pauses, and the air is suddenly five pounds heavier. “Do you _want_ it to mean something?”

Did he? He’s never been good at relationship shit. Even before he discovered he was a fag, he couldn’t keep it together. At least then, it was considered cool and macho to send all the girls running because they couldn’t stand him. Now, he was just recklessly destroying every friendship he’d ever produced because he can’t control his dick or his tear ducts.

“No,” Kurt decides after a moment. “I really don’t.”

JD sighs, and when he speaks again, the relief in his voice is tangible. “Good.”

Good? JD flirted with him all the time! Did he just do it to get a rise out of Kurt? What kind of game is JD even playing at?

Kurt turns his attention back to his Big Gulp, letting the silence sink in, when the sound of squealing tires finally catches his attention.

“That can’t be good.” JD mutters.

Kurt’s heart drops as a very familiar green Jeep pulls into the 7/11 parking lot.

Out come three very angry, very mean-looking Heathers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit finally hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay in updates. School is hard.

Heather Chandler is out of the car first.

She doesn’t even wait for the car to pull to a full stop before she’s out and running.

She looks a mess, mascara running down her cheeks and hair in a messy bun. Her clothes are baggy and her eyes are tired. If it weren’t for the telltale red scrunchie in her hair, he probably wouldn’t have even recognized her. She looks nothing like the statuesque Mythic Bitch she used to present as, but there’s still an absolute terrifying air about her.

“I should probably go.” JD mutters.

“No.” Kurt says too quickly for his liking. “I… fuck, I don’t know.”

JD opens his mouth to say something more, but Chandler cuts him off before he can. It’s nothing in her actions, and Lord knows she still can’t talk, but there’s something about her approach that is a statement in itself—and one that left no room for a rebuttal.

Heather’s eyes flash to JD for a brief second, and while Kurt can see the undeniable spark of fear in her face, it’s gone in a second, buried beneath a mountain of rage.

Heather’s signing so fast he couldn’t even begin to follow what she’s saying.

He can pick out a handful of phrases. Mainly “fuck you.” “Fuck you” is signed many times. It’s enough to get the message across.

Duke jogs up to them. She’s dressed to the nines, as usual, which only serves to show just how composed she looks next to Heather Chandler. She’s Heather’s composure, her beauty, and cruelty, rolled into an entirely different person.

There’s a certain glimmer in her eyes. Kurt winces. She lives for these tastes of power. “I believe that what Heather is trying to say is that you’re a fucking idiot.” The grin doesn’t leave her face. It’s almost like she can smell his fear. “Like, are you serious? Hanging around with creepy trench coat kid. He _tried to kill you!_ He tried to kill _Heather_ and who knows who else if Veronica hadn’t stopped him!”

McNamara joins in last, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes don’t stray far from JD. Everything about her body screams how tense she is, like she’ll jump on him herself and take him down if he poses a threat. In its own way, it’s about as scary as the yelling and the anger.

Duke waves her arms, demanding his attention back. “And now you’re hanging out in trashy parking lots smoking and eating greasy food?” She leans back and folds her arms, exceedingly satisfied with herself. “Glad to see your shit taste hasn’t changed much.”

Kurt opens his mouth to respond, but Duke cuts him off before he can.

“Fuck you, Kurt. Don’t even _try_ to start with me! Fuck you for fraternizing with the enemy, for hurting Heather, for every stupid thing you do!” Duke tops it off with a shove to his chest.

It’s so unexpected that he stumbles back.

Kurt’s eyes flash to JD. What should he do? Fight back? Apologize? He doesn’t want to hurt them, but it’s not exactly fun being cornered like this.

JD isn’t any help, though. He’s ever inching back, watching all of them in turn. His face is disturbing neutral. Half of Kurt wants to be annoyed. JD acts like such a fucking white knight all the time, except for when it matters most. But at the same time, the last thing Kurt wants is him to make the Heathers even _angrier_ for a cheap giggle.

“Do you really have nothing to say for yourself?” Duke shoves him again, and that’s when his decision is made.

He grabs her wrist and pushes it away from him. Not enough to hurt her, but hopefully enough to serve as a warning. McNamara shifts her attention from JD to put a hand on Duke’s shoulders, but she’s back to watching him in an instant. “Yeah? Well, maybe I’m mentally fucked up from everyone treating me like shit all the time, okay?” Kurt takes a step backwards. “He was around when everyone else bailed. What else do you want me to say?”

McNamara balks, taking her eyes off JD long enough to glare at Kurt instead. “Are you actually implying it’s our fault you’re mentally fucked?” Her face twists into a scowl. Cute, whacky Heather has officially left the building, and without the cheerleader façade, she’s just another heartless Heather. “You’re fucked up because you’re a bad person.”

“I—”

“Haven’t changed. At all. You’re still the same toxic person I had to lock out of my car.”

“And how long have you thought this?” he demands. His stomach rolls, watching at the ways the girls instinctively cringe back when he raises his voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs this slight semblance of control, or else he’ll fall apart entirely. He’ll be their bad guy, if that’s what they really want. “What was I to you, then? Your fucking charity case? Is this what you dumb bitches do to look like you’ve changed, just take in the losers like me and ditch us once you get bored?”

“Well, obviously we made a mistake trusting you!” Duke snaps. “He’s going to kill you and all you can think about is that _we’re_ bitches? Wake up, Kurt, you’re delusional! You’re delusional and you’re going to get us all killed!”

“Why does it even matter what I’m doing in my free time?” Kurt asks. His voice is rising and rising, but he can’t stop himself. “I’m not bothering you! You can all keep having your little support groups and tea parties without me and nothing’s gonna change! I don’t know why you bitches are so concerned, because you sure as hell didn’t give a fuck when it mattered!” For a second, it feels good to get all that anger out, but it just ends up leaving a gaping hole in his chest. He can’t stop the next comment that comes out of his mouth. “But I guess it’s still too much to ask for you to come when it matters, huh, Mac?”

He watches them in turn. McNamara. Duke. Chandler. He takes in the details of their face, the different ways they process unfathomable rage.

To his surprise, McNamara is the one that steps up. She even goes so far as to hold Duke back. God, he’s stoked the flames with that comment, and now he’s going to be burned alive. “I thought that you were too good for Ram, but maybe Ram’s too good for you. At least Ram has some common sense! He’s terrified for you, and the most you can do is whine about how no one reached out to you when we were all going through bullshit and attack us for trying to help?” McNamara scoffs. “Get real.”

“Trying to help”? Did she even hear herself? On what planet did yelling at someone constitute as a helping hand?

His gaze flits to JD, who’s been quietly observing—so quietly that not even Mac seems to realize he’s still there. He holds eye contact, his face neutral, and shakes his head once.

Goddammit, he’s right. None of them are hearing a thing—not from themselves, and definitely not from Kurt. No, all they want is to yell and scream and take out all their pain on the most likely target. Well, Kurt isn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He’s made enough of an ass of himself for one day, thank you very much.

Without a word, he deliberately turns his back to them and begins walking away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Duke demands.

He spins on them. “Forgive me if I’m not that hyped to hear the Bronte sisters piss and moan about how the world doesn’t revolve around them. Go find someone else to annoy. I’m done being your fucking punching bag.”

He moves to leave again, but he’s stopped by someone grabbing the front of his shirt. Heather Chandler glares up at him, tears sending mascara-tainted rivers down her cheeks. She opens her mouth and forces out a single sentence.

“ _Stay away from me._ ”

The word is raw, scratchy. He can hear just how much it hurts her to speak, but she does it anyway, because she wants Kurt to know just how much she wants him gone.

“ _LEAVE!_ ” Heather screams. She slaps him, her fingers clawed. Her fake nails dig painfully into his cheek.

The force of the hit is enough to make Kurt stumble back. He almost trips over his own feet, but JD ends up having to steady him. If anything, it almost makes him angrier.

Kurt draws himself up to his full height. He hates the way Heather tenses.

It’s nothing too noticeable. She doesn’t flinch, not like McNamara does, but she does steel her body. She stiffens her shoulders, ready for what? A smack to the face? A punch to the gut? What does she think he’ll do to her? They’ve cried in bathrooms together, spilled their guts on the linoleum. Did it mean nothing?

“Gladly.” Kurt spits back.

**Author's Note:**

> heyo so i've got a [tumblr](http://president-homewrecker.tumblr.com/post/170243158376/hey-guys-i-have-a-really-really-awesomely) you can drop by
> 
> we can scream about ships together
> 
> it'll also help explain why my updates are so sporadic lately


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